Honorably Ever After
by PCondor
Summary: This story picks up where the final episode of JAG left off. Which way does the coin fall? What happens after that? Read on to find out!
1. The Toss

**0052 ZULU**

**McMURPHY'S TAVERN**

**FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA**

I enter the quiet hubbub of my favorite bar with the sound of a tinkling bell. It's a familiar sound – one I've heard many times before, whenever I came here to blow off some steam after work. It is different this time, though. My awareness of my surroundings – the subdued red and green lighting, the faint smell of dark Irish beer and cigarettes, the oak paneling that dominates the overall décor – is heightened by the realization that this may very well be my last visit in a long while. And if things go my way tonight, I suspect coming here will never be quite the same again.

"What can I do for you?" the bartender asks, as I hoist myself onto one of the barstools.

"Ah, I'll have a draught beer," I tell her, and I feel my face splitting into a smile so wide that it should probably be illegal. Apparently, the bartender notices.

"What put that smile on your face?"

"Well, I just got engaged." It sounds so final, now that I've said it out loud in front of a stranger. It also sounds good – almost too good. "At least, I think I did."

The bartender grants me a half-smile. "Don't you think you ought to find out?"

I nod while she hands me my beer. "That's kind of why I'm here now."

Beside me, the bell tinkles once more, and I force myself not to look. She said she'd be here at 2000. Sarah Mackenzie is never late, but almost never early, either. What time is it, exactly? Right about now, I wish I had her uncannily accurate internal clock.

Before I get a chance to glance at my watch, though, I recognize the sound of her footsteps. My stomach does a tiny summersault. She's here. I stand and turn to watch her walk towards me. She's wearing a deceptively simple burgundy dress, the sight of which clears my mind of all thoughts but one. Gorgeous.

"Hey," she says, in a greeting so quiet that I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who heard it. Our lips meet in the most innocent of touches. It holds the promise of so much more, but we both know this is not the time or the place for that.

"What can I do for you?" the bartender asks again, and Mac smiles divinely as she orders her customary soda with a twist.

"Figures a guy like him would be with a girl like you."

Mac chuckles. "Well, we're still working on that."

"Ah, so that makes you the almost-fiancée."

She nods and accepts her soda. "That's the part we're working on."

"I don't see a ring..."

Mac gives me a sideways glance. "We're ... negotiating that."

"Lucky you."

She looks at me then – really looks at me – and it takes my breath away. Her words make it even better. "Yeah ... lucky me."

Before I can do anything to embarrass myself in front of a bar full of witnesses, I'm saved by the arrival of Bud and Harriet.

"Captain, Colonel!" Bud calls out, full of his usual joviality. Harriet goes to hug Mac as Bud and I clasp hands. "Congratulations! This is turning into quite a special night!"

I nod at both of them, perhaps happier to see them now than I've ever been. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

Harriet laughs out loud as she pecks me on the cheek. "Are you kidding? We wouldn't have missed this for the world!"

Further hugs and kisses are passed around, but pretty soon, we all run out of immediate pleasantries to exchange, and the atmosphere of general joviality lulls a bit.

"Drinks?"

Bud and Harriet are both quick to take me up on my offer, and as I place their orders with the bartender, Sturgis and Jen arrive.

"Hey, the gang's all here," says Mac happily, and I order a Bloody Mary and a Martini for the newcomers while out of my sight, another interested party walks in.

"I got your message," he announces, and I'm pretty sure he's not talking to me, but I look up anyway – straight into the eyes of Major General Gordon M. Cresswell. So he came. Who'd have suspected?

"I thought you said you had a flat tire and no spare."

I watch Jen turn a cute shade of pink, and the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Aha.

"Captain Rabb ordered me to get you here, sir, any way I could. So I lied. I knew you wouldn't come otherwise, and this might be a surprise to you, but it wouldn't be the same without you here, sir."

His nod is one of reserved acceptance, so I interrupt before he can really start contemplating things. "What are you drinking, General?"

He asks for a dry Martini and turns to Mac. "Colonel. I understand you're taking my Petty Officer to San Diego."

The pink on Jen's cheeks turns into a deep shade of red now. "Eh, I hadn't found the right moment to ask the Colonel, sir."

Mac, gracious as always, jumps in before things can turn awkward. "I would love to take her, sir. With your blessing."

Nobody objects, so I feel compelled to amend that statement a little. "Well, that's if the Colonel is actually going to San Diego."

My remark is clearly a surprise to everyone but Mac and Bud. "You're not thinking of turning down the assignment?" the General asks, dumbfounded. Mac just smiles a bit.

Preparing to add shock to the confusion, I stand. "Mac and I have an announcement to make," I declare, and as Mac pivots to nestle into the crook of my arm, I watch everyone's expression turn utterly incredulous.

"We're getting married."

The bombshell squarely hits its target, but right now, as Mac rests her head on my shoulder, I couldn't care less.

"In either London, or San Diego," she adds, and slowly, the faces around me melt into smiles. A flurry of 'congratulations' follows. The General's reaction is perhaps the most surprising. "Outstanding!" he beams, "I knew you'd finally come around to the Marines."

If he only knew just how long I've been coming around to this particular Marine.

"For this marriage to be successful, "one of us has to resign their commission," I continue. Unsurprisingly, it's Mac who finishes the sentence. "… And it's no surprise that we couldn't decide which one," She's always been good at completing my thoughts.

"So we're going to let fate decide," I conclude, and I turn to Bud. "Bud?"

Bud clears his throat in the typical Bud way that says 'look at me doing this hugely important thing', and then addresses the group. "When Admiral Chegwidden retired, he gave me his JAG coin, and I thought this would be the perfect moment to use it." He takes the coin from his pocket. "Here is the side with heads," He shows the coin around, then turns it. "And this is the side with tails. Bride to be will call."

Mac sighs and looks at me, as if for reassurance. I secretly love it when she does that.

"Tails," she finally decides.

Bud smiles. "I've always wanted to do this at the Super Bowl." And he tosses the coin.

**0121 ZULU**

**McMURPHY'S TAVERN**

**FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA**

"Well, looks like no Yorkshire Pudding for you, Flyboy."

Mac is holding the coin in her hand, tails up, sporting that coy little smile of hers that I couldn't get enough of if I tried. She caught it. Of course she caught it.

For a fraction of a second then, I wonder if she didn't just turn it the way she wanted it to fall when nobody was looking. In all honesty, I wouldn't put it past her. But before I can even begin to contemplate the exact logistics of pulling off something like that in front of so many eager onlookers, I realize that I don't care. It doesn't really matter where we go – it only matters that we both go there.

I clear my throat. "I believe this is my cue."

Everyone, including Mac, looks at me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity as I turn and take a step backwards, locking gazes with my bride to be.

"Mac," I begin, suddenly hoarse, "I'm not going to get down on one knee and ask you a question you've already answered. But there is something I want you to have."

I reach into my inner vest pocket, then flip open the blue velvet box as I hold it out to her.

"This is the ring my father gave to my mother when he asked her to marry him," I intone. "Consider it my promise to you. I'm going to love and cherish you for the rest of my days, no matter where life takes us."

She smiles her most divine of smiles, eyes glazing over. "Slow down, boy," she says, her voice at least as hoarse as mine. "We're not married yet."

"No," I tell her, taking the ring out of its box and putting it onto her ring finger – her left ring finger. "But we will be. Soon."

For an interminable moment, we just there stand like that, my hand on hers, drowning in each other's eyes. Then the cheering of our audience breaks the spell, and with a start, we both realize we're not alone in the world.

Mac looks at the ring, then back at me. "Harm ... How did you ... You didn't commandeer a Tomcat and fly a round trip to California to collect the ring from your mother this afternoon, did you?"

I grant her a silly grin. "Even Harmon Rabb Junior can't bend the laws of physics, Mac. I would have never made it back here in time."

She slugs me in the shoulder. "Especially not with your flight record." I should have seen that one coming. Then she sobers. "How long have you had it?"

"Pretty much ever since I started talking to my mother about you."

Mac blinks. And then, abruptly, she turns to the group at large. "I think this warrants a true celebration. Don't you? Next round on me!"


	2. The Aftermath

**0445 ZULU**

**BELTWAY**

**WASHINGTON, DC**

She's next to me in my car, and I can't stop stealing glances at her.

It's not that I've never sat next to her like this before, listening to her every breath, attuned to her every movement. It's that I'm no longer pretending to be the only man in the known universe who just wants to be friends with her.

She used to be Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, Marine first and lawyer second – a trusted friend and colleague, yes, but never anything more than that; at least not during waking hours. Now, she is Sarah Mackenzie, my soon-to-be wife. Suddenly, there are so many wonderful little things about her that I've never consciously allowed myself to notice before. The way the streetlights play off her raven-black hair, for once hanging loose around her slender shoulders. The curve of her leg where the slit in her dress ends, awarding me a rare glimpse at bare skin.

"I bet Bud is going to be cursing himself in the morning," I venture, because I'm afraid to talk about the things that are really going through my mind.

She smiles her patented Mac smile. "Don't worry about him, honey. I gave Harriet my famous four-step guide to hangover eradication."

I contemplate a quip about how she's never been inclined to impart that particular bit of wisdom on me. I decide against it when I realize I'll never need it. I refuse to be drunk in front of her.

Instead, I say: "Honey, huh? I like that."

"You do?"

When I look at her, there's no longer any sign of coyness in her expression. She is sincerity personified. As if she really doubts my answer to that question.

"Especially when it's coming from you," I tell her sincerely, and I reach out to squeeze her hand.

When my fingers brush against hers, electricity passes between us. It is yet another manifestation of the tension that's been building all night. Ever since she came into the bar, in that dress with the slit going almost all the way up, I've hardly been able to pull my eyes off her. And then of course, she had to lean into me; put her head onto my shoulder; give me those excruciatingly sage kisses. I wonder how much of it was on purpose – how much of it was a concerted effort on her part to drive me stir crazy, and how much was happy serendipity.

I cover her slender fingers with mine, and my thumb, seemingly of its own volition, finds its way to the inside of her wrist, drawing lazy circles there as I scramble to stay focused on the road.

"God, Sarah."

I fail to realize I've said that out loud until she gently pulls her hand out from under mine and touches my forearm. "Harm?"

Even then, it takes me a while to notice that she's talking to me.

"What?"

"I don't think you've ever called me Sarah before."

Actually, I have. Once: that night on the ferry in Sydney. But I'm loath to remind her of it now.

"I wasn't sure you'd like it if I did."

Her fingers leave hot trails on my forearm as I reach for the stick shift before turning onto her street. I pull over almost directly in front of the entrance to her building, and silence descends upon us.

"We're here."

"Yes, we are."

Neither of us moves – as if we're in a bubble that will pop as soon as one of us so much as breathes wrong.

"Mac, I..."

She touches my forearm again. "Please, Harm. Call me Sarah."

I swallow. "Do you want me to walk you to your door, Sarah?"

I'm half expecting she'll chew me out for implying that she, a United States Marine in the proud possession of expert marksman skills, can't take care of herself on the way from my car to her doorstep. Instead, she smiles.

"I think you know I'd like you to do a whole lot more than that, sailor."

I give her a radiant smile of my own. Finally. Finally, we've reached the point where we can truly drop the traffic signals.

**0510 ZULU**

**MAC'S APARTMENT**

**GEORGETOWN, DC**

We walk from my car to her building's entrance, never touching, but painfully aware of each other. She precedes me into the lobby, and the impulse to guide her, one hand on the small of her back, is almost too strong to resist. But I'm afraid that if I touch her now, I will never be able to let go again.

Then we're in the elevator, and suddenly, I find myself holding her hand. Such a seemingly innocent gesture, and yet ... Her body heat radiates out, leaving goose bumps on my arms where we are almost, but not quite, touching. By the time she sticks her key into the lock on her apartment door, the temperature between us seems to have risen to tropical levels.

She doesn't even wait until I'm fully inside the apartment with her, instead turning around to face me as soon as she has cleared the doorway.

"Kiss me, Harm."

Even though, as of this morning, she no longer outranks me, I have no choice but to comply.

Our kiss is sweet, hot and tender, composed of equal measures need and serendipity. It's not the first kiss we've shared, or even the first one we've shared since I proposed to her. But by God, it is a kiss to remember.

"Sarah..." I breathe, panting as I summon all my willpower to break free of the hold she has on me. The look in her eyes, already mourning the loss of my lips on hers, almost shatters me. I step back so as to look at her from a safer distance.

"Are you sure we should be doing this right now?"

Her response is a mixture of annoyance and desperation. "Harm, let go already!" she exhales, and I give her points for not screaming at me. "By this time tomorrow, I'll be in San Diego and pretty soon after that, you will..."

"I will no longer be in the Navy," I add, before she has to. "But this is not about me being stuck up on Navy regs, Mac. It's about time constraints. You're supposed to be leaving for San Diego in a little under six hours."

She raises one eyebrow while she slowly trails her hands down my sides. "There's plenty we can do in six hours, Flyboy."

"I'm sure there is, Marine," I tell her, suppressing a groan. "I'm just not sure that's how I want to remember our first night together."

Abruptly, she drops her hands beside her and takes a step back. "So what, Harm? You make a note on your calendar? Send me a written reminder the day before, telling me exactly when and where to show up, like a good little woman?"

"No, Sarah Mackenzie," I hasten to reassure her, wrapping her up in my arms, lips tantalizingly close to her ear as I whisper, "But when I make love to you, I want us to have all the time in the world, so we can do it right."

She makes a delightful humming sound as I plant a feather light kiss on the side of her neck. "All right, sailor," she breathes, "But if that's really what you want, then you have to stop doing things like that."

Feeling devious, I trail my hands down her sides as I catch her lips in another soft, sweet and tender kiss. " ... Or like that," she sighs when we break apart.

Obediently, I take a step backwards, but she refuses to let me go entirely. "At least stay here tonight, Harm," she tells me, her hands on my shoulders. "You're right. I'll be leaving for San Diego in five hours and thirty-two minutes, and there are so many things we need to sort out before I do."

"It's already well past midnight, Mac. You need to sleep so you can tackle this new challenge head-on in the morning."

She smiles. "I'll sleep in transit if I have to. We Marines don't need much. And besides, I don't officially start my new assignment until the day after tomorrow."

I sigh. "Please tell me you packed the coffee on top."

"Do you really have to ask?"

**0558 ZULU**

**MAC'S APARTMENT**

**GEORGETOWN, DC**

By the time I come out of the kitchen, two steaming cups of java in hand, Mac has changed into a pair of loose-fitting khaki shorts and a Washington State University sweater. I'm already missing the burgundy dress, but I'm not about to tell her that. She'd never let me hear the end of it. There's also a fire burning in the fireplace, which puzzles me.

"A fire, Mac?"

She smiles mischievously. "I kept a few logs around. I had a feeling I might be needing them tonight."

I feel my eyebrows crawling up into my hairline. "You did, did you?"

She slides off the couch to get closer to the fire, patting the spot beside her on the floor.

I suck in air through my teeth. "Oh, I don't know about that, Mac. I'm an old man, remember?"

"Only when it suits you, Flyboy."

I can't help but laugh out loud at that, and in the next instant, I unceremoniously plop down next to her.

Silence ensues. We have a nine-year history of not knowing what to say to each other at times like these, and we both realize it has to stop now, or this marriage will be over before it's even started. Question is, how do we do it? I'd be surprised if she has more of a clue than I do.

"So, your mother gave you this ring?" she ventures, holding up her hand for me to see.

I start to nod, but think better of it when I realize that she can't see me from where she's sitting. "She did."

"At the bar, you said that she..." She trails off, but I know what she's trying to ask.

"I've been holding on to that ring for nearly seven years now – ever since you and I came back from Russia. It was always meant for you."

That earns me a playful slug in the shoulder. "Flattery rarely works on me, Rabb. You should know better than to try. Don't tell me you never considered giving that ring to any of the myriad other women in your life."

I sigh. "Well, my mother probably didn't think I would."

That piques her interest. "Your mother didn't think you would? Explain."

I take a sip of coffee, giving myself a chance to gather my thoughts before I dig in. "You remember I went to visit my mother when we came back from Russia..."

She looks at me and nods, prompting me to go on. "Uhuh."

"Of course, I told her and Frank all about the woman we met in Siberia – how she found my father frozen in her barn and took him in; how he died protecting her." I sigh as the memories come flooding back. "I think she knew that was only a fraction of everything we went through over there, but she didn't press it. And when I finished, she pulled me aside and asked 'so now that you've solved the great mystery of what happened to your father, Harmon Rabb, what exactly do you plan on doing with the rest of your life?"

Mac's eyebrows crawl almost all the way up her forehead. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I wasn't exactly sure, Mac. What else could I have said? I mean, what kind of a question is that, anyway?"

"I think it's the kind of question caring mothers are supposed to ask their children, Harm. I take it she was none too pleased with your answer."

"I don't know that I'd put it like that, exactly. She said something about how I was still living the life of a fighter pilot in the middle of a war zone – afraid of putting down roots for fear that tomorrow may never come."

"Your mother is a wise woman, Harmon Rabb."

I smile at just how right she is. "Oh, you haven't heard the half of it. Giving me that ring – I think it was her idea of an antidote against my permanently uprooted lifestyle. She told me to keep it close, for when I met the right woman. I protested at first, of course. I told her that meeting the right person for what she had in mind was much easier said than done. She wouldn't have any of it. She insisted that the right person was much closer than I thought, and that I would know that if I'd just open my eyes."

"You don't honestly think she was talking about me. She's never even met me."

I turn to look at her. "As a matter of fact, Sarah, that's exactly what I think. She'd been asking me about you even before we left for Russia. As I recall, she thought you were 'quite the girl'. I must have dropped your name one too many times in her presence. And I gave her no reason to think she was on the wrong track with my story about Russia – quite the opposite, I suspect."

I can't help but pause when it hits me how much time Mac and I might have won if I had just let myself see what my mother had long suspected. "I'm pretty sure she always knew what it took me at least two more years to figure out: that I would either give that ring to you, or not give it away at all."

I sigh, drinking more coffee to fortify myself against Mac's reaction to my next thought. "Of course, by the time I had wrapped my head around that, you were wearing another man's engagement ring."

"On my right hand."

"Yes, well. I'd say that was a classic case of Sarah Mackenzie hedging her bets. I don't blame you for not falling for Brumby head over heels, though – I might just have lost my confidence in your intelligence if you had."

She shakes her head in mock exasperation. "Think what you will, Harm. Brumby was basically a decent guy. He may have been the only basically decent guy I've ever been with."

"Present company excluded, I hope?"

She shrugs. "If you say so, Flyboy. And anyway, I did give you a chance to pre-empt the whole thing, remember?"

I sigh. "I know. But at the time, I just wasn't ready. You and I were working together. I loved my career. I loved having a partner I could trust and respect the way I trust and respect you. I didn't want to lose either of those. Besides, I plead mitigating circumstances."

She chuckles. "Oh yeah? And what would those be, counselor?"

I smile and play along. "Well, Your Honor, I ask that you reconsider your judgment in light of the fact that the defendant, at the time of the offense, was emotionally incapable of envisioning a life for himself in which he wouldn't be working for the Navy."

At that, Mac turns instantly serious again. "So what's changed, Harm?"

I sigh. "A lot has changed. For one thing, staying in the Navy now would mean losing you – as a partner at work, most likely as a friend, and certainly as anything beyond that. But for another, being away from the service for a while after Paraguay made me realize that life outside the Navy is actually nowhere near as bleak as I had always thought it would be."

"Does that mean you plan on flying for the CIA again?"

"So that you can have a repeat experience of your blissful year with Webb? I don't think so."

She utters a dry chuckle that isn't anywhere near a laugh. "It pains me to say it, but I actually think you are made of far better stuff than Clayton Webb."

I feign shock then. "Was that a compliment?"

She smiles widely, probably remembering the exact same thing I am. "Any way you want to take it."

We share a moment of happy nostalgia, and then I sober. There's something else we need to talk about. "It's not just about you, either, Mac. I have Mattie to think about now."

She cocks her head and frowns, a mixture of interest and concern on her face. "How are things with Mattie? Has your request for permanent guardianship been approved yet?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. There will be another court hearing, for which a date hasn't been set. But as I've told you before, we don't anticipate any real trouble. Tom has gone completely off radar since I last saw him. Also, by the time this hearing happens, I will be out of the Navy and hopefully married, which would eliminate two of the top concerns the judge had about my guardianship last time."

Mac smiles. "Every coin has a flip side."

I nod, taking another swig of coffee. "You realize it won't be easy. We don't know yet how things will ultimately turn out for Mattie, but I think it's safe to say she'll never be a pilot, or do many of the other things she may have dreamed of doing. She could have a lot of trouble accepting that – and even if she doesn't, it'll take a while for her to adjust to this new life. But I promised her I wasn't going anywhere without her, and I meant that in every sense of the word. Can I trust that you're with me on this?"

Mac puts a hand on my shoulder. "Harm, of course I am! How could you ever doubt that?"

I sigh and shake my head. "I didn't, really. I just needed to make sure."

She scoots closer to me and puts a hand on my cheek, turning my head to look at her. The expression on her face is one of utter sincerity. "Be sure, Harm."

Suddenly, there's a lump in my throat. "Thank you, Sarah," I whisper. It's all I can say right now. Mac smiles a tender smile.

"So, Flyboy, you really think the Navy can get by without a man of your abilities?"

I smile at her obvious attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm sure nobody at the Pentagon will mourn the loss of 'Harmful' Rabb all that much."

Again, she inches a little closer to me and puts her arm around my shoulders, adopting a sultry inflection as she speaks. "Well, I will," she says, "and I can think of at least one member of Congress who would probably share that opinion."

My smile widens. "Oh, I'm sure Bobbi Latham won't miss me nearly as much as I will miss the Navy. But I'm OK with that. If I really wanted to have my cake and eat it too, I'd find a way. If all else failed, I'm sure the Coast Guard could use another pilot in San Diego, even if he's forty-two years old, has never flown a helo, and lacks half the flight hours a guy his age should have clocked. But if I want to do right by Mattie, and by you, I will have to change my priorities. No more sudden TAD assignments. No more putting my life in jeopardy at the drop of a hat."

Mac grants me a brilliant smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Why, Harmon Rabb," she purrs, "When did you suddenly become a grown-up?"

I chuckle. "Navy Exchange sells wisdom in packages these days. Hadn't you heard? But in all seriousness, Mac, being Mattie's guardian has changed me. I guess before I met her, I never *really* had a reason to be the grown-up. And now, with her accident, I figure she'll need my guidance even more than before, so..."

When I lock eyes with her, the intensity I find there surprises me. "I always knew you were one of the good guys, Rabb."

For an indeterminate amount of time, we sit there and stare into each other's eyes, both knowing there is so much more to say, but not having the words to say it. Maybe there are no words.

In the end, it's Mac who breaks the silence.

"It's almost 0200, Harm. My cold coffee says we've been at this for a good long while, and I think the fire desperately needs another log if we want to keep it going."

I breathe deeply, then let it out slowly, still not breaking eye contact. "Go to sleep, Mac. I don't want you to have to travel to San Diego on no sleep at all."

"You're probably right," she nods, "But there are a few practical details to be ironed out yet."

I raise one eyebrow. "Just a few?"

She chuckles. "Well, before I leave here, I'd like to at least have some idea of when I can expect my future husband to join me in San Diego."

I sigh. "In all honesty, Mac, that might take a while. I need to go see Mattie and her medical team before I do anything else. She's nowhere near done with rehab, and as of right now, I'm not entirely sure we can move her elsewhere just like that. I'll also have to be in the area when the guardianship hearing comes around, but I could probably come back for that. First of all, though, I have to officially put in my request for terminal leave with the General. I may have to stick around a while to deal with the formalities of that, too."

She looks at me pensively. "Yeah, I guess. I wish I could be there when you talk to Mattie, though. Any chance you could, you know, put off telling her about the engagement until we can do it together?"

I sigh. "Doubtful. As of right now, she still thinks I'm leaving for London in forty-eight hours."

"Yeah. How were you two going to deal wit that, anyway? I mean, with you leaving on such short notice and her still in rehab..."

I shrug. "I'd have worked out a transfer to an NHS facility. She'd have been fine where she is in the meantime. The point is, there is no way I can avoid telling her that things have changed; and when I do, she'll want to know why – that's if she doesn't figure it out by herself before I get a chance to tell her."

Mac smiles. "You think she would?"

"I think she knows there are very few things in life that are more important to me than my Navy career. She also knows that you are one of them."

"Because you told her?"

"Well ... yes. Once, she asked me point-blank if I was in love with you. I couldn't very well lie to her, could I?"

Mac's expression turns mischievous at that. "So, Harmon Rabb," she says in a whisper, as she crawls yet another half-inch closer to me, "If even your teenage pretend-daughter knows it, how come you've never told me that before?"

I smile sadly. "I tried a couple of times. Apparently, never when you were willing to hear me."

"I'm willing to hear you now, Captain."

We lock gazes again, and the intensity in her expression once again almost overwhelms me. "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie," I tell her, with all the sincerity that eight years of secret adoration warrant.

"I love you too, Harmon Rabb."


	3. 60 Days

**1256 ZULU**

**JAG HEADQUARTERS**

**FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA**

- You've reached Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie's cell phone. Please leave your name and number after the beep, and I will call you back as soon as I can. -

I sigh as I switch my car to Park and turn off the engine. "Hey, Marine," I say into my phone. "I'm sorry for sleeping through your leaving this morning. I'm an old man _and_ a squid, what can I say? I found your note, though. I called Varese, and she confirmed she'd be there at 1800 for the movers to pick up your boxes. I hope your flight was uneventful. Call me when you get a minute, all right? I love you. Bye."

I cross the parking lot and enter the building without much conscious thought. The Petty Officer at the reception desk greets me by name. I return his greeting, but I'm sure I won't be able to recall who it was, if someone ever asks me. This is a path I've traveled so many times before that I often do it on automatic pilot, my mind on other things – my caseload for the day; some brief that I've been working on; my opening statement for the next court-martial. Today, it's on what I'm going to say to the General.

As I cross into the bullpen and almost walk straight into Bud, I notice out of the corner of my eye that Sturgis' office is empty.

"Good … morning, sir," Bud stammers, his trademark consternation evident on his face. "I didn't think we'd be seeing you here again so soon. I mean, not that you're not welcome, sir, it's just … well, you know …"

He trails off and I smile at him, clapping him on the shoulder for good measure. It amazes me that he's still insisting on calling me 'sir', even now that he knows I won't be a Naval Officer, let alone his superior, for very much longer. But I've long since given up on trying to correct him. "It's all right, Bud. I've come to talk to the General – and to Sturgis. He in yet?"

"Commander Turner, sir? He's been delayed – something about car trouble, I think. He probably won't be here for another thirty minutes, at least."

I sigh – just my luck. "All right, Bud. When he does come in, can you give him this?" I hand him an unmarked envelope, and he looks at me in confusion. "Sir?"

"It's the key to Mac's apartment – sorry, that would be Varese's apartment now. She asked me to give it to Sturgis when I talked to her on the phone this morning."

"Oh, I see," Bud says, even though, clearly, he doesn't. "I'll make sure Commander Turner gets this, sir."

"Good man, Bud," I smile. "Now, I take it that the General, at least, has been here for a while?"

"Actually, sir, he came in about the same time I did. He must have had a good time last night. But yes, he's here."

"Thanks, Bud," I throw over my shoulder, already on my way to the General's office. There's nobody in the outer office – is Petty Officer Coates already gone? But the door to the office proper is ajar, so with a light knock to announce myself, I enter.

The General ignores me – or at least, he fails to notice me – until I clear my throat in a way that defies all subtlety. But when he finally looks up and addresses me, his manner is genial enough, considering the fact that he's General Cresswell.

"Captain Rabb. What can I do for you?"

I can't resist a half-smile. "Well, sir, since you were there when I lost the coin toss yesterday, I thought you might already know the answer to that question."

He doesn't respond right away, silently regarding me for a moment instead. "You've come to put in your papers?"

"Yes, sir."

He frowns and stands up, walking around his desk until he is directly in front of me. "Are you sure about that, Captain?"

He then proceeds to subject me to a silent treatment of intimidation by sheer will power, the mastery of which, I'm beginning to think, is probably part of every USMC Officer's commissioning requirements. I have to admit, it's impressive. A younger, less doggedly determined version of me might have crumbled to dust under that look. But today, my resolve is unwavering – or so I would like to believe. "Yes, sir!"

General Cresswell is obviously not convinced. "You're what, two, three months away from retirement eligibility?"

"Actually, it's five months and twenty-three days, sir – most of that on account of my leaving the Navy for Paraguay. But if the only alternative is moving to London, then I have no choice, sir. I have to resign."

The General crosses his arms in front of him and for a while, he just stands there considering me. "I understand you've petitioned for permanent guardianship of Mattie Grace."

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Have you considered the mountain of medical costs you may conceivably incur over the course of her rehabilitation, Captain?"

Well, now he's just manipulating me. I can feel the anger rise inside me, but keep it at bay. "Sir, I hardly think that's…"

"Think about this, Captain: if you change employers now, it may severely impact your coverage – and by extension, hers – during the transition. Are you sure you can afford to take that kind of chance right now?"

It's an interesting point, I have to give him that – and strangely, not one that either Mac or I have even fleetingly considered before. But I still don't think it's something the General has any right to try to leverage.

"There are larger concerns here, sir. With Mattie newly injured, what I really need right now is a nine-to-five job that will consistently have me home in time to prepare dinner. At the very least, I need to be on a boringly predictable schedule upon which to base the arrangements for her care. Sudden TAD assignments, let alone overseas deployments, are no longer an option for me."

"You realize, Captain, that the chances of a JAG officer of your rank being sent anywhere TAD are slim – especially when the officer in question is the Force Judge Advocate for a major command."

"They may well be slim, sir, but that doesn't mean they're non-existent. As a Naval Officer, I am required to follow orders and go wherever my country most needs me – and the needs of this country are in constant flux, in this time of war."

The General grumbles. "Let me ask you something, Captain. Putting aside your personal life, do you believe you can still be of service to the U.S. Navy?"

"Sir?"

"Let me put it this way, Rabb: your methods are unorthodox, your emotions are too close to the surface, and you've been a pain in the butt to more people in power than I care to count. But you are good at what you do, the people you work with tend to trust and respect you almost to the point of blind loyalty, and unless I am sorely mistaken, you like your job. So let me ask you again, Captain: putting personal circumstances aside, is there some reason you suddenly feel incapable of serving the U.S. Navy, in any capacity?"

"With all due respect, sir, since those circumstances form the entire basis for this request, I can hardly put them aside just like that."

The General sighs. "It pains me to admit it, Rabb, but I would really hate to lose a man like you to some scumbag who inherited a big-name law firm from his daddy, and who just wants another crony working under him."

I can't resist smiling at that. "I hardly think corporate law is my niche, sir."

"Well then what _are_ you going to do, Captain?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet, sir. I believe I'll need some time to figure that out."

For a moment, he studies me, his arms once again crossed in front of his chest. "Tell you what. Last I checked, you had close to sixty days leave on the books. Now might be a good time to take some of that leave. Go to San Diego. Talk to your fiancée. Figure things out. If in a month or so, you still want out, then fine. We'll let you go. But if not, give me a call. San Diego is crawling with Navy lawyers, and with you and the Colonel both leaving here, I imagine there will be a fair amount of deck chair shuffling in the next few weeks. Something is bound to open up – maybe even a cushy nine-to-five desk job where you can still be of some use to us."

"Sir, I … I don't quite know what to say to that, sir."

"Say you'll think about it. I don't want to see or hear from you again until you've given this some very serious thought, Captain. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You're dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir."

**1350 ZULU**

**MILITARY FAMILY HOUSING**

**NAVAL BASE SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA**

"Patrick, please don't!" she screams, barely able to breathe as she holds her infant son close to her chest, the child wailing, tears streaming down both of their faces. "He's your son too! Look at him, Patrick!"

There's a loud crash as the woman stumbles backwards, through a window, out into the front yard of the house. Her head bounces once. Then she and her child lie motionless in the grass, its color slowly turning to rust as blood trickles steadily down her face, into the soil beneath her. The silence reverberates onto the deserted street.

Not far away, a red and blue baseball cap pokes out from behind a wooden fence as a red-haired man comes out of the house, gets into his car, and drives away. The boy is still watching when he turns the corner.

**1430 ZULU**

**BLACKSBURG COMMUNITY HOSPITAL**

**BLACKSBURG, VIRGINIA**

"Harm!"

Her greeting carries a degree of enthusiasm I wasn't expecting. I don't think I've seen her smile even once since she woke up – until now.

"Hey, Mattie. How is my favorite fifteen-year-old?"

"Almost sixteen Harm. My birthday is in three weeks. Besides, how many people my age do you actually know?"

"Enough to be sure that you're my favorite. And by my count, that still means you're fifteen today," I tell her with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes. "Spoil-sport," she pouts, and adds: "What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be packing for London right about now?"

"Actually," I reply, picking up one of the plastic chairs and moving it closer to the bed, "that's what I came here to talk to you about." I sit.

"OK," she says, "Talk."

"I'm not going to London, Mattie."

"You're not?"

"No."

"So what? Your orders changed? They're sending you some place else? You're not going to war, are you, Harm?"

"That would be a negative on all three counts. In fact, I told the General about an hour ago that my days as a war hero are over."

"What's that mean? You resigned?"

"Well, I tried. The General wouldn't let me. But he will, eventually. At some point, he's going to have to."

For at least a full minute, she says nothing as my words sink in. Then, she shakes her head. "Why, Harm? You love the Navy! You're third generation, it might as well be a genetic trait!"

"Both my grandfather and my father died in the service of their country, Mattie. That's not a tradition I'd particularly like to perpetuate."

"But you're a lawyer, Harm! The only way you're going to die in the service of your country is if your opponent's arguments bore you to death!"

I chuckle. "Well, that's not entirely true, although I have to give you points for originality. The thing is, as long as I stay in the Navy, there will always be the possibility of me having to go somewhere unsafe, even if it's only for a few days."

"Harm, you've been doing that since I've known you … long before then, actually. So what's changed? If this is about me, Harm, I told you …"

My cell phone chooses that moment to abruptly interrupt our conversation. Taking a quick peek at the caller ID, I give Mattie a nod, "Hold that thought," and then, after accepting the call, "Hi, Mac!"

- Hey, Sailor, and a good morning to you! -

I try not to blush. "Yeah, listen, I'm sorry about that, Mac. Really. How was your flight?"

- You're getting better at apologizing, Flyboy. I like it. Oh, and the flight was 'uneventful', as you so nicely put it. Have you talked to the General yet? -

"I have."

- So now I have to stop calling you Sailor? -

"Eh … not quite yet. The General said, and I quote, that he'd hate losing me to some scumbag who inherited a big-name law firm from his daddy and just wants another crony to work under him."

- Yeah … Like you would really go into corporate law. -

"That's what I told him."

- So then what? He flat-out refused to process your resignation? -

"Not really. He just told me to think on it for the next month or so, and if I still want out after that, he'll let me go."

- Oh? And what are you supposed to be doing in the meantime? -

"You mean besides use up a big chunk of leave?" I shrug. "Change my mind about leaving the Navy, I guess – I believe that would be the General's preferred outcome. But while we're still on the topic, there's someone here who desperately wants to know what made me want to resign in the first place. She seems to be under the misguided impression that she can take all the credit for that."

- You're with Mattie? -

"Yeah, and as I recall, you said you wanted to be around when we told her, so… "

As I trail off, I can _see _Mattie put two and two together. It's the 'we' that must have done it. "Harmon Rabb, you didn't!" She's practically squealing.

I smile at her widely, nodding as I cover my lips with my free index finger, and then move the phone away from my ear to press a button. "You're on speakerphone, Mac. Tell her."

Her announcement is clean and simple. - - Harm and I got engaged last night, Mattie. We had Bud toss a coin to determine which one of us had to turn down their assignment and leave the military. Harm lost. - -

Mattie smiles widely. "Well, that certainly took you two long enough!"

On the other end of the line, Mac bursts out laughing. - - I won't argue with you there. - -

That's when a doctor walks into the room – this one, I've never seen before. I hurriedly switch off the speaker. "Mac, I have to go, the doctor's here. I'll call you tonight, OK?"

We exchange quick goodbyes, and then I direct my full attention at the doctor. He looks at me, nodding. "You must be Commander Rabb."

"Actually, it's Captain Rabb now. But please, call me Harm." I extend my right hand, and he takes it. "Nice to meet you, Harm. I'm doctor Nelson from neurology."

With that, he turns to Mattie. "Morning Mattie. How are you feeling today?"

"Never better!" Mattie beams.

The doctor looks at the expression on her face, and then at me, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I can see that. How's your sensation? Anything new or noteworthy?"

At that, Mattie's expression darkens. "I don't think so. I'm still having trouble using my fingers … and there's still nothing at all below my belly button; same as yesterday, I guess."

"Well, as I told you yesterday, Mattie, the truth is that you've already made a remarkable amount of progress, given the level of your injury. The gains you continue to get are a very positive sign, and there may still be significant progress to be made. But it will probably be slow going from now on."

The doctor turns back to me then. "It's not uncommon for it to take two years to best recovery."

"And what can we expect for Mattie, in terms of best recovery?"

"It's hard to say, but Mattie's case gives us cause for prudent optimism. In the four weeks that she's been here, she's progressed from being vent-dependent to breathing on her own and spontaneously moving her arms. There are no guarantees, of course, but statistically speaking, she has a fair chance of recovering hand function completely, over time."

I note the conspicuous omission of any reference to walking, but let it go for Mattie's sake. She need not hear my fear. "So, I take it she'll be here a while yet?"

The doctor sighs. "In all honesty, we've done about all we can for Mattie here. If she is to make further progress of any significance, she needs to be transferred to a long-term rehab facility, preferably one with extensive expertise in the rehabilitation of spinal cord injured patients. Mattie tells me you're her legal guardian?"

I sigh. "Well, I was. And I will be. But right now, legally speaking, I have no more right to make a decision about Mattie's care than any random stranger would."

"What needs to happen for that to change?"

I sigh. "Juvenile court needs to set a date for the hearing, and then decide in my favor. Since there is nobody to dispute my petition for guardianship this time, I don't think getting it approved will be much of an issue."

"So at this point, you're just waiting for the judge to set a date?"

"Basically, yes."

"You're an attorney, right, Captain?"

"Yes, I am."

"So tell me. Is there any way we could get the court to expedite the proceedings based on medical need?"

"We definitely could in an emergency, but I don't think this qualifies. Staying where she is, while far from ideal, puts Mattie in no immediate danger. We can petition the court to set the date as early as possible, but they're under no obligation to honor that request."

"I'd try it anyway if I were you, Harm. The sooner Mattie is transferred into long-term rehab, the better her chances for recovery. If it helps, I can write you a letter for the judge, explaining the situation."

I nod. "Yes, thank you. I think that would definitely help."

**0002 ZULU**

**HARM'S APARTMENT**

**NORTH OF UNION STATION, DC**

- You've reached Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie's cell phone. Please leave your name and number after the beep, and I will call you back as soon as I can. -

I sigh, switching the phone from my right shoulder to my left as I pick up the pot of spaghetti with my right hand, and dump its contents into a colander to let the water drain.

"Mac. It's Harm. I said I was going to call you tonight, but I guess we have different definitions of 'tonight'." I sigh. "Anyway, call me back, OK? I'm at my apartment."

I drop the phone onto the counter as I empty the colander's contents back into their original cooking pot. She calls me back before I can add my carbonara sauce to it. There's music in the background.

- Hey, Sailor. -

"Hey Marine. I'm not interrupting anything important, am I? Sounds like you're having fun."

- No, just dinner. Not much fun in sitting here all by myself. -

"Oh, poor you. Petty Officer Coates is not around? She wasn't there when I went to see the General this morning, so I assumed …"

- Oh yeah, she's here – she took the same flight out I did, but she ran into an old friend of hers. They're eating out tonight. -

I chuckle. "Uh-oh. You better check that she's still alive in the morning."

Even though I can't see her, I know Mac is rolling her eyes at me. Not funny, Harmon. And anyway, this is a friend from boot camp. If he's still in the Navy three years after the fact, I think we can assume he's basically decent, right? Or do you squids have different standards?

I'm laughing out loud now. "All right, all right, I surrender! How's San Diego?"

- Nice and warm – but not terribly welcoming, so far. I have a feeling the Base CO is one of those guys who secretly doesn't think women belong in the military – let alone in command of anything other than their own faculties. Luckily, I won't have to deal with him too much. -

"You'll prove him wrong eventually."

- You bet I will. I didn't really get a chance to talk to Mattie this morning. How is she? -

"She was as upbeat today as I've seen her since the accident. I think our news may actually have done her some good."

- Glad to hear it. And thanks for letting me tell her, Harm. That was real nice. -

"I've been known to be nice before."

- Occasionally. So what have you been up to this afternoon? -

"I spent the better part of four hours camping out on a judge's doorstep, trying to expedite Mattie's guardianship hearing."

- Any luck? -

"Don't know yet. I finally got this clerk to promise me she'll inquire about moving the hearing to early next week. I have a letter from Mattie's doctor basically saying she needs to be moved to a different medical facility ASAP, but I don't know how much that will help. I think the clerk liked me, though, so I guess we'll see."

- Oh really? And what exactly did you have to do to secure the goodwill of this … clerk? -

"Well, you know what they say about dress whites and gold wings."

- Highly overrated? -

"Something like that. But Mac, I think we may have a slight problem."

- What kind of problem? -

"The General brought up an interesting point regarding health insurance this morning. At first it made me angry, because I felt like he was trying to manipulate me into sticking with the Navy. But he's right. Mattie is going to need at least several months of rehab in a specialized setting. I don't know how much of that she has coverage for right now, but I'm guessing that if Tom can't even stop drinking long enough visit his injured daughter, keeping up Grace Aviation's insurance payments probably isn't very high up on his list of priorities."

- So what are you saying, Harm? -

"I'm saying it would be especially unwise for me to change careers now, before I become eligible for retirement benefits from the Navy. I'd lose my health insurance for a while, and this is the worst of times for that to happen."

- Hold on, Sailor. My math might be off, but shouldn't you be retirement-eligible already? -

"I thought so too, until I checked the record. I'm not. I would have been, if I hadn't gone to Paraguay."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. - You're serious. -

"Unfortunately. But I don't believe it necessarily has to be a big deal. The General seems to think he can shuffle some people around to get me a senior JAG billet in San Diego."

- The General must like you a lot better than I ever gave him credit for. But is it what you want, Harm? I thought you said you were leaving the Navy because you want to be there for Mattie. -

"I honestly don't know, Mac. I'm going to have to think on it. That's the whole point of this leave, right?"

- Right. -

We both fall silent then. Nothing else of any urgency needs to be discussed at this point, but neither of us wants to let the other go quite yet. The silence stretches on until finally, she breaks it.

- I miss you, Harm. -

"I miss you too, Sarah."

For a long time after that, I just stand there, listening to her as she breathes, 2200 miles away.


	4. Not crazy, just confident

**1755 ZULU – 0855 LOCAL**

**NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER SAN DIEGO**

**SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA**

It must be a strange and very frightening environment for a child.

That's the foremost thought on her mind as she shuffles into the PICU, step by wobbly step, head floating a few inches above her. A cacophony of indistinct beeping noises and the unmistakable smell of industrial-strength disinfectant invade her brain, adding to the fogginess.

Once in a while, when the rhythmic hum of machines keeping children alive is punctuated by a subdued sign of life from one of them – a whimper, a gurgle, the occasional wail – she is jolted out of her semi-stupor, but never for long. The dull ache that pervades her skull has a pretty tight hold on her ability to think clearly, and the drugs she's being given to control it only strengthen that effect.

She moves slowly among Plexiglas barriers and high cots with metal bar fences, anxiously scanning faces, glancing at nametags and status charts despite her blurry vision. But she doesn't need the ability to read in order to recognize the one child she came looking for. Eyes closed, cream-colored face framed in soft wisps of golden hair, he looks like an angel to her. If it weren't for the narrow plastic tube coming from between his colorless lips, she could almost believe he is simply sleeping. Almost.

Silently, she stands there watching. She can feel her light-headedness become progressively worse, but steadfastly ignores it as she snakes her hand between the bars, lightly touching the boy's forehead. "Sleep tight, my baby. You'll be all right."

In this clinically sterile world, time marches to the steady beat of the heart monitor and the cyclical pumping motion of the ventilator. She lets them lull her into a comforting trance, using her IV pole for support as she continues to stand watch over her only child.

Then suddenly, the rhythm is broken. The heart monitor protests loudly as the tiny body it's attached to stiffens, rigid limbs thrashing wildly against the mattress. Within seconds, they are surrounded.

"He's seizing!"

"Push 2 cc's of Ativan IV, stat!"

She feels her breathing quicken, and then her light-headedness takes a precipitous turn for the worse. The IV pole that she's clinging to becomes the center of her world, her awareness of what's going on around her fading rapidly.

"Come on, kid, don't do this! Come back to us."

"Joshua," she breathes. "His name is Joshua!"

"What is she doing here? Who let her in?"

She feels someone put a firm hand on her shoulder. And then the world goes dark.

**1855 ZULU – 1155 LOCAL**

**JOE'S BAR**

**BLACKSBURG, VIRGINIA**

"Morning, Tom."

Tom picks up his tumbler, filled with a colorless liquid that I can only assume is vodka, and empties it in one big gulp. "Hit me again," he tells the bartender in a scruffy tone of voice, holding out the glass in his general direction. He doesn't even look at me.

I sigh and hoist myself onto the stool next to Tom's while I pre-empt the refill by holding my hand over the outstretched tumbler, and shaking my head at the bartender. He shrugs and goes back to drying dishes.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Tom, this early in the day?"

That grabs his attention. When he turns to look at me, the expression on his face speaks of both annoyance and carefully cultivated disinterest. "And who are you? My father?"

"I'm nobody's father, Tom. But you are, and your daughter needs you."

"Oh yeah? What's she need me for? She has you, doesn't she?"

I sigh. "Nobody, no matter how kind and well-meaning, will ever replace you as Mattie's father, Tom. Trust me, I know."

He huffs. "So what, you'd rather she have a drunk for a father than a guy like you?"

"I'd rather she have a sober father and a friend like me, Tom."

"Yeah, well, we can't all get everything we want in life, can we?"

With that, he turns to the bartender once more. "Come on, Joe, hit me again. Make that a double, no ice." This time, I make no attempt to stop Joe from complying.

"How long do you think you can keep this up, Tom?"

He looks at me blankly and shrugs. "Who cares?"

"I do, dammit!"

I'm taken aback by my own outburst, but Tom has no qualms about simply ignoring it while he gulps down a big swig of this newly poured helping of vodka. I take a deep, calming breath, and press on.

"Seriously Tom, how long? How long before you end up in a gutter somewhere, broke and alone? How long before you booze yourself into destruction?"

"And if I do, what's that to you?"

"This isn't about me, Tom. It's about you, and it's about Mattie. Do you _want_ your daughter to see you as the guy whose SOP in difficult times is to run the other way?"

"That's what I am, isn't it?"

"Maybe. But has it ever occurred to you that it doesn't have to be that way? You cleaned up your act once, you can do it again."

"Well, here's some news for you, doc: maybe I don't want to!"

I close my eyes as the painful truth hits me. This is the second time in as many weeks that I'm hitting a wall while talking to Tom. There is no way I can win this battle. If he were sober, we'd be having an entirely different conversation. I know he cares about his daughter. But whatever it is that he's looking for at the bottom of a bottle, he's clearly stopped believing that a sober life can offer it to him – and help only comes to those who want to help themselves.

"I'm getting married, Tom."

"Congratulations. She pretty?"

I sigh. "As far as I'm concerned, she's the most beautiful woman in the world. More to the point, she is currently stationed on the other side of the country."

"Ah … so you came to tell me that you're riding off into the sunset with the love of your life. Why am I not surprised? It's easy for you to run away from this mess."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Tom, but from where I'm sitting, it looks to me like you're the one doing the running."

"Like I said, Harmon Rabb. Mattie has you, so what's she need a sorry drunk like me for?"

We're literally talking in circles now, and I'm finding it very difficult to keep the frustration out of my voice. "Don't play the self-pity card with me. It doesn't work. You're in this hole because you chose to be in it."

"I didn't choose for my daughter to fall out of the sky and break her neck, smart-ass!"

"No, but you're choosing to avoid dealing with it, by drinking yourself into oblivion. And if you are determined to use what's happened to your daughter as an excuse to destroy yourself, then there isn't much I can do about it. But I'll be damned if I stand by and watch your behavior destroy Mattie too!"

"I'm not destroying my daughter, Commander. The accident already did that. Besides, you're not staying to watch, are you? You're running away with your blushing bride."

I have to consciously focus on breathing, to avoid doing something I'll regret later. I remind myself that this man is Mattie's father; he must have done many things right for her to grow into the remarkable young lady that she is. But right now, I'd like to punch him.

My voice, when I speak, carries far more calm than I feel.

"If you knew me at all, Tom, you would realize that running away is not something I do. I'm moving to San Diego to be with the woman I love; not to get out from under any of my responsibilities. And that definitely includes my responsibilities towards your daughter."

He snorts. "Spare me the rhetoric, please. You can wax nostalgic about responsibility all you want, and if this was a courtroom and you were talking to a jury full of your Navy buddies, you might even get away with it. But I'm not that naïve. San Diego is a convenient out for you. You'd have to be crazy not to take it."

I clench my fist, forcing myself to keep breathing slowly. "I'm not crazy, Tom. I simply choose to believe that Mattie has the strength not to let this accident destroy her. All she really needs from you and me is our confidence in her ability to get through this. But apparently, that's not something you are willing or able to give her."

He doesn't answer. He just shrugs and takes another swig of vodka.

"I'm not going to run away from this, Tom. I'm going to petition the court for full custody of your daughter, and then I'm going to take her with me to San Diego."

Still, there's no reaction. He doesn't burst out in anger. He doesn't start pleading with me. He doesn't even _try_ to act hurt or offended. He just locks eyes with me and toasts me with his vodka. "That's grand, Commander Do-gooder. Where do I sign?"

For a few seconds, I'm speechless. How is it that this man, who just a few short months ago would have fought me tooth and nail if I hadn't willingly given him back the right to raise his own daughter, can care so little about it now?

With a sigh, I stand. "That's Captain Do-gooder to you, sir. I sure hope the vodka is worth it."

**2030 ZULU – 1330 LOCAL – 1130 PST **

**PARKING LOT OUTSIDE JOE'S BAR**

**BLACKSBURG, VIRGINIA**

I sit in my car for a very long time after leaving the bar, mulling over what just happened in there. I told a man I wanted his teenage daughter to move across the country with me, and he damn near congratulated me on it.

Absent-mindedly, I flip open my cell phone. There's one new message on my voice mail. I unlock the keyboard, fully intending to retrieve the message. Instead, I find my fingers forming a familiar combination.

She picks up before I can change my mind about calling her.

- Colonel Mackenzie. -

"Mac."

My voice sounds strange even to my own ears – raspy and uneven, as if I've been up all night and am only now beginning to feel the effects.

- Harm? What's wrong? -

I should have known a single syllable would be enough for her to figure out that I'm not exactly myself right now.

"Nothing's wrong, Mac. I just … Are you busy?"

- I wouldn't mind an early lunch. Now spill. –

I pause. Where do I start? After a moment's contemplation, I decide that the beginning will do.

"I tracked down Tom. Found him at a local dive bar in Blacksburg that I didn't even know existed. One of the guys who used to make his living dusting crops for Grace Aviation pointed me to it."

- OK, so you found him. And? –

"I don't know what happened in there, Mac. I _think_ I just wanted to tell him I got engaged, and that I'd be moving to San Diego soon, but …"

- But? -

"But he's digging himself into a hole, Mac – a hole that has just him and a bottle of vodka in it. I think he's given up on himself. Worse, I think he's given up on Mattie. I just … I …"

- What happened, Harm? –

It's a gentle question, but I think she's preparing herself for some pretty bad possibilities, knowing as she does how my emotions can sometimes run away with me.

"Nothing happened. I just told him that if he was going to use this accident as an excuse to destroy himself, there wasn't much that I could do about that, but I'd be damned if I was going to let him destroy Mattie too."

- That sounds rather like an appropriate thing to say, given the circumstances. And maybe he needed to hear it, Harm. –

"Yes, well. I also told him I was going to petition for full custody."

- Are you? –

"If you had asked me that question ten minutes ago, I would have said no, or at the very least, 'not yet'."

- What changed your mind? –

"Tom's response. He asked me where to sign."

For over thirty seconds, Mac doesn't say anything. Then, carefully: - Alcohol can do nasty things to people, Harm. -

"Tell me something I don't already know."

- Is this an acknowledgment that there are actually some things the great Harmon Rabb doesn't know? -

Her good-natured jab is an obvious attempt at lightening the mood, and at any other time, it might have worked. Right now, though, I'm just not in that kind of mood. I sigh.

"I don't know how to deal with this mess I've created, Mac. I keep hitting walls with Tom, and every time I talk to him, I hit them harder. It doesn't seem like any part of what I'm trying to say is getting through to him, and now I may have permanently poisoned him against me."

She's silent for a while, and I assume she's thinking hard about this. When she speaks again, her voice is tentative.

- Why don't I try talking to him, Harm? I'm an alcoholic. Tom knows that. He might feel less threatened by me. -

"I'd like to say that's a great idea, Mac, but somehow, I doubt he's been picking up his phone much lately."

- Tomorrow's Friday. I'll fly back to DC over the weekend. We can talk to him together. -

"Can you really do that, so soon after getting reassigned?"

- Well, the next man above me in the food chain is General Cresswell, and he's 2274 miles away. If anyone here has a problem with it, they'll have to go through me. I'll call you when my flight is booked. -

"Thanks, Mac."

- Anything for you, Flyboy. See you soon. -

We hang up, and as I'm about to flip the phone shut, I remember the voice mail message that's waiting for me. When I dial the mailbox number, there's luckily only the one.

"Captain Rabb, this is Melanie Stevens, from Judge Delaney's office. We can schedule Mattie Grace's guardianship hearing for Monday morning at 9 AM, if you'll take that spot. Could you call me back as soon as possible to confirm?"

Ten minutes later, after a quick callback, I can tell myself that whatever happens next, I will know that at least _one _positive thing has come of this perilous morning.

**2055 ZULU – 1155 LOCAL**

**NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER SAN DIEGO**

**SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA**

When she opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is a ceiling fan – at least she thinks that's what it is. Her vision is still a little blurry, and her head is throbbing like never before. It also feels wet.

She tries to bring her hand up to feel it, but someone stops her. "Don't touch it. You hit your forehead on your IV pole when you collapsed in the PICU this morning. The doctor put in two stitches."

She turns and finds the face that voice belongs to – a grandmotherly lady in a nurse's uniform. "My son … how's my son?"

Her voice sounds raspy – she barely recognizes it as her own.

"Your son is fine, Mary. The doctors got his seizure under control, and I'm told he's resting comfortably. Next time you want to go see him, ask someone on the staff to go with you, OK?"

She nods, closing her eyes in the sudden realization that she's done something rather stupid.

"Two NCIS agents just dropped by wanting to talk to you. Is it OK if they come in here and ask you a few questions?"

She closes her eyes and nods again. She doesn't really want to talk to these people, but she knows that sooner or later, she's going to have to.

The nurse walks out, and two men – one bald, tall and slender, the other round and short, and endowed with an ample supply of chestnut-brown curly hair – walk in.

"Afternoon, Petty Officer O'Neil," says the tall one. My name is Agent Masters, and this is Agent Fields. We're here to ask you some questions about your and your son's injuries. Can you tell us how they happened?"

"It was a clumsy accident, sir. I just … I, I tripped and fell backwards through the window."

"Was there anyone else with you in the room at the time of your fall?"

"Well, yes. My son. I was holding my son when it happened."

"Yes." Agent Masters consults his notes. "Yes, Joshua O'Neil. He's in the PICU with a traumatic brain injury, right? You were still holding him when the EMT's found you. Anyone else?"

She hesitates for only a fraction of a second. "No, sir. There was no one else. It was just a stupid accident, sir. That's all it was."

The agents share a look. She pretends not to notice.


	5. Everything and More

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE **_

_This chapter, much like chapter 2, is pure fluff. I knew that immediately after I finished writing the first complete draft, and recently spent three consecutive late nights desperately trying to turn it into something that, in my opinion, would strike a better balance. I couldn't._

_There will be those of you who are wondering what the big deal is. Fluff is what most stories on this website are made of. Fluff is the product we are all trying to sell – some of us more openly than others. But therein lies my problem. I am increasingly convinced that nobody really wants another pureblooded variation on a familiar theme: Harm & Mac, married with children. A million attempts at that have been made. Some of those are a million times better than mine could ever be. _

_So at this point in the writing process (I'm roughly eight chapters in, and about halfway there), I would like to make both an apology and a promise to my readers. Despite efforts to the contrary, I'm not sure this will ever be anything other than an also-ran in the 'thin on plot, studded by emotion' category. It wants to be what it wants to be – these characters have their own set of priorities – and there seems to be little I can do about it. For that, I apologize. But I also want to promise you two things: one is that I will follow this story wherever it goes until it's done. I may try to write a different kind of story next time around, but I won't abandon this one to accomplish that. The other is that I will make every effort I can to keep it interesting along the way. _

_What I can't promise – and ultimately, I don't think any of us can – is that I will succeed in writing a story that will keep you engaged until the end. I hope you'll bear with me regardless; and that at the end of the journey, you'll let me know what you thought, even if you fell asleep and/or stopped reading halfway through._

_Thank you all for sticking with me. _

_P.S.: If you're curious about the kind of story I'd like to write but can't, I point you to incatnito's JAG series, which consists of a number of multi-chapter stories, all of them loosely or not so loosely tied to each other. I highly recommend you check them out, if you haven't already. _

**0345 ZULU – 2245 LOCAL**

**DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT**

**WASHINGTON, DC**

It's almost 2300 when I walk into the airport's main terminal. I've never been here at this time of night; might not come here at all, in fact, if my job didn't necessitate frequent in-country trips. Knowing exactly what it takes to fly an aircraft – even a commercial one – makes me all the more wary of being someone else's passenger in the air. That's especially true when the 'someone else' in question might be civilian-trained, and possibly lack most of the finely honed reflexes to be taken for granted in a military pilot.

The rows of blue screens overhead show a relatively quiet schedule of arrivals and departures. Pockets of people are everywhere, but the level of ambient noise is nowhere near what it would be during regular business day hours. The shops and eateries are closed, and the lighting seems subdued, but despite it all – or maybe because of it all – the overall atmosphere is almost cozy.

What's more, though, it makes it easy for me to spot Mac the second she comes out of the arrival gate. She's still in uniform, her skirt a bit rumpled from well over four hours of sitting in the same slightly uncomfortable position, but otherwise every bit as kick-ass and ready for action as I've ever seen her – every bit the Mac I've always known.

But she's more than that – more than the kick-ass Marine; more than the levelheaded yet passionate attorney; more than the most loyal friend I've ever had. The second her Marine Corps trained eagle eyes finish methodically searching the environment and lock with mine, I know. I know, with a certainty I've felt about very few things in my life, that I will never again look at Mac and not see Sarah, too. Never again will I see the Marine, and manage to forget about the beautiful woman – the beautiful person – that is Sarah Mackenzie. My Sarah Mackenzie.

My awareness narrows to include just her as she approaches, and I suddenly realize, perhaps for the first time, that she is every bit as irresistible while wearing that uniform as she was in the burgundy dress that threw me for a loop the other night. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I could probably stand here looking at her walking towards me forever, and die a happy man.

But then she halts in front of me. Now I can smell her; feel the heat of her body; see her chest rise and fall as she breathes; and I'm glad that I'm nowhere near dead, or standing here with her like this might just have finished me off completely.

"Hey, Flyboy," she says softly, treating me to one of her divine smiles, and all I can do is breathe – barely even that – as I get lost in her hazel eyes all over again.

"I've missed you, Sarah," I manage to croak, and tiny lights start dancing in her eyes. She's flattered, I think, but also a little bit incredulous.

"I haven't been gone that long, Harm." She leans in, and I can feel her breath caress my cheek as she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I'm glad to see you too." Then she plants a barely-there kiss on my cheek. My stomach flutters. She has no idea what she's doing to me.

She rolls back on the balls of her feet, taking a small step aside as she does, to put a little distance between us – she _is_ in uniform, after all. But I stand motionless, breathing in her scent, reveling in her nearness; consciously allowing myself, for maybe only the third time in all the years that I've known her, to let my knees go weak for this woman.

An immeasurable amount of time later, she puts a gentle hand on my arm. A bolt of electricity shoots up my spine.

"Earth to Harm," she says, and the twinkle in her eyes intensifies. "Were you planning on getting out of here at some point _before_ the end of the decade? I think I'm starting to sprout roots."

That makes me laugh, and it breaks the spell at least enough for me to regain the power of speech. I take a step back. "Sure, let's." I gesture to the shoulder bag she's carrying, which is barely bigger than a purse. "Do you have any checked luggage we need to pick up?"

She chuckles. "I only just shipped all my worldly belongings across the country, Harm. I'm not planning on doing that again any time soon. Besides, unlike some of us, I have a job that I actually need to get back to on Monday. How much luggage can I possibly need?"

"If by 'luggage' you mean 'clothes', then I think we're in agreement."

She pauses, the expression on her face somewhere between intrigue and astonishment. I have to agree, it's not something I would normally let slip. The twinkle is still there, though, and when she speaks, she sounds more hopeful than shocked. "Did you just say that out loud?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't …"

She smiles coyly, putting a finger on my lips. "Oh, no you don't, Flyboy. Don't you dare try to backpedal on me now. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to stop censoring yourself in my presence?"

"I can imagine," I say simply, and it's true enough. "Let's go, Marine."

She nods and shifts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, presumably to get a better grip. Only then do I notice. A bird has replaced the oak leaf on her collar.

"Hold on … did you … did you get a promotion?"

She grins. "What does it look like? I had been wondering when the penny was going to drop."

I shake my head. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

She gives me a half-shrug and a tiny smile. "It only happened yesterday, Harm. General Creswell called me near the end of the day, to tell me that the USMC O-6 Board had finally reported out. The Base CO did the honors this morning."

I sigh, and start walking in the general direction of the exit. "Well … that must have been a surprise, …" I venture. "Isn't he the guy who, and I quote, 'doesn't think women should be in command of anything beyond their own faculties'?"

She chuckles as she catches up and then passes me. "He pinned on my new insignia, Harm. There's no regulation that says he had to like it. And to tell you the perfect truth, I was more surprised when the reassignment didn't come with a built-in promotion."

I raise an eyebrow. "Modest much, are we?"

She looks at me over her shoulder and laughs. "What, you don't think I belong up there with you, almighty Captain Rabb?"

A whole smorgasbord of possible responses comes to mind – some more merciless than others – but in the end, I settle on the sincere one. "In my not-so-humble opinion, Mac, if there's anyone I know who belongs 'up there', with or without me, then it's you."

That's another uncharacteristic thing for me to say, and she knows it. For a few seconds, she just looks at me, staring into my eyes intently. Looking for … I don't know exactly what she's looking for, but apparently, she finds it. "Thank you, Harm."

Her tone of voice reveals a level of insecurity that I hadn't really expected. She's so good at being the unshakeable Marine; sometimes, I forget that's just the outer shell protecting a softer, more vulnerable core.

I smile. "Don't thank me, it's the truth. You said so yourself just a minute ago."

"Forty-seven seconds. And I said I was surprised I got the assignment, but not the promotion. That's different."

"Different how, exactly?"

She shrugs. "When in command of a LSO, O-6 just kind of comes with the territory. RLSO, NLSO, TSO, … the CO spots are all O-6 billets."

I frown, trying to remember who all those people are, and failing miserably. "I'll take your word for it ... But even if that's true, how does it change the fact that you deserve to be 'up there', as you put it? You wouldn't have been appointed to an O-6 billet if the pertinent people didn't think you were O-6 material, Mac."

She shrugs again. "Honestly, I'm not so sure about that. JLSO is new territory, Harm. At this point, there are only so many senior Marine Corps Officers with a proven track record of not running away screaming when confronted with an office full of squid lawyers."

I don't know whether to laugh out loud at that because it's funny, or sigh in exasperation because it's such a blatant example of Mac selling herself woefully short. I do neither. But I can't keep the smile off my face as I reply. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Colonel, but I think you did a little more than just not run away screaming while at JAG."

She looks at me again, lips curled in a sultry smile, the fingers of her right hand absently playing with the ring on her left. "You mean I got friendly with the locals?"

I snort. Indeed. More than one of them, as I recall.

It would be so easy to say that out loud, and continue the endless banter. Mac and I have perfected it into an art form over the years, if for no other reason than that it often allowed us to talk to each other without actually _talking_ to each other. I recognize that in our epic game of verbal basketball, this is a three-pointer waiting to happen. But I can't – not this time. She's about to be my wife. I want her to know what I really think.

"Not even close, Mac."

That stops her in her tracks. "It's not?"

I walk around her, looking her in the eye as I reply. "No. The truth is, as your work partner of nine years, I think you are the perfect person for this job – and not just because you happen to have spent the last nine years of your career among us squids, in a setting where the squids had a definite home-court advantage."

"Harm, you don't have to …"

This time, it's my turn to silence her by putting a finger to her lips. "Shush, Marine. Let me finish."

I put my hands on her shoulders – we're halfway across the parking lot by now, the lighting is poor, and I need to make sure she knows exactly how sincere I am.

"Here is my professional opinion on what kind of person would make the perfect leader for an entity like the JLSO, Colonel. JLSO needs a CO who has the ability to remain levelheaded in almost any kind of situation, even when the people working there don't; someone who is always generous with advice and support, but delighted to let other people shine when appropriate, even if their methods are … unexpected; and most importantly, someone who is consistently able to see multiple perspectives all at once, bridging cultural and other gaps where necessary."

I pause and take a breath, giving my words a moment to sink in before continuing.

"You are all of those things and more, Mac. It's part of what made you so good on the bench, while I crashed and burned there. And it is what will make you a kick-ass CO, in a position that couldn't have been better-suited to your talents and background if it had been created specially for you."

For a few seconds, Mac seems to be utterly speechless. Then she grins. "What just happened, Harm? Were the saved-up niceties threatening to eat you from the inside out, that you had to dump them on me all at once?"

There is the familiar banter again. I know that for Mac, just like for me, it's been a safe haven in our emotionally tumultuous relationship almost since we met. It's there to pull back into whenever the other person says something we don't quite know how to deal with. I sigh.

"I just call them like I see them, Colonel. So what do you say we go celebrate that new eagle on your collar?"

She smiles. "What do you have in mind, Flyboy?"

A decade's worth of dreams, with you as the main character.

That's what I want to say. I don't say it. "Lots of things. But I'm thinking food first. I'd wager you haven't eaten since lunch, and I know how you get when you're hungry, so …"

"I doubt there are many places that will serve anything resembling a proper meal at 2317, Harm – not by your exacting standards of what a proper meal is, anyway."

I smile my 1000-watt smile as we get to my car, and I hold open the passenger seat's door for her. "Well, then I guess it's a good thing I have a home-cooked one waiting for us at my apartment. How does that sound?"

She smiles sweetly at me as I get behind the wheel. "Right now, I'll eat pretty much anything, Harm. As long as it's not Harm's special meatless meatloaf."

I look at her in mock indignation. "You wound my pride, Colonel."

For a second there, I think she actually believes that I may be offended. Then I let up. "How does lasagna Verde sound? Made from scratch. I even have some with actual meat in it, just for you."

"You are just full of surprises tonight, aren't you?"

I chuckle. "You ain't seen nothing yet, Sarah Mackenzie."

**0525 ZULU – 0025 LOCAL**

**HARM'S APARTMENT – NORTH OF UNION STATION**

**WASHINGTON, DC**

"You were right, Harm – I hadn't seen anything yet. I had no idea you were such a by-the-book romantic."

She tells me that with twinkling eyes while I bring her dessert – chocolate mousse by my grandmother's recipe – and I have to admit, there's something to it. Candles light the room. Soft jazz music is playing in the background; and on the table, between our place settings, is a single red rose in a slender vase – a universally recognized symbol of love.

I smile as I sit down, hopefully hiding an oncoming sense of awkwardness. "By-the-book, Sarah? Are you accusing me of a lack of creative thinking?"

She chuckles. "A lack of creative thinking, Harm? That's probably the one thing nobody who's ever actually met you would consider accusing you of." She takes a spoonful of the chocolate mousse, and as she savors it, produces an appreciative humming sound somewhere deep in her throat that sends a tingle up my spine. "It's … traditional. I like traditional; especially when traditional involves chocolate mousse good enough to die for."

"You can thank the other Sarah in my life for that. It's her recipe."

She takes another spoonful, and with her eyes closed, tells me, "But you made it, Harm, and this is not just good. It's … heavenly." Then she opens her eyes again, and there is definitely mischief in her expression. "Talk about being full of surprises. I never would have thought you had it in you to happily serve a fatty, cholesterol-ridden sugar bomb like this, Harm – let alone make it yourself."

I laugh. She's right – mostly. "They say a man's love goes through his stomach. I'm told that's true for women too, only they're pickier."

She giggles. It's easily the most delightful sound I've ever heard. "You don't have to bribe me into loving you, Sailor. I already do. I've been in love with you for years."

It's something that, deep down, I've known for a while. It still takes my breath away to hear her say it, though. I swallow. "Right back at you, Marine. You had me at 'I'm an alcoholic.'"

She quirks an eyebrow, tensing. "Are you telling me you fell in love with me because of a fatal flaw that I admitted to before you'd even had the time to get to know me?"

I give her a small smile and shake my head. "No, Sarah. I didn't fall in love with you because of what little you told me of your past the day we met. It was because of who you had become despite that past. Knowing how deep a ditch you'd had to climb out of to get where you were made it all the more impressive – and that was before I realized how many other contributing factors there were to the crap fest otherwise known as your life before the Marines. You are an amazing person for having risen so spectacularly above all that, Sarah Mackenzie. You also happen to be a very beautiful woman. Of course I fell in love with you. How could I not have?"

For a long time, then, she is silent. I can see her relax back into her seat after a while, but still, she says nothing.

"Sarah?"

"Nine years, Harm. For nine years, I tried in vain to get you to be the first one to say it – I love you; three little words. But no. Most days, you shied away from saying out loud anything that would have implied you so much as liked me. Every time I tried to have a conversation with you wherein you might have had to admit that I was more to you than the nice girl next door, you shut down and ran. But tonight, in the span of two hours and forty-seven minutes, you've told me in so many words that you missed me during the three days I was gone, that you don't know anyone more deserving of a promotion, and that I will make a great CO. You called me generous, and a bridge builder. You used big words like 'amazing' and 'beautiful' to describe me. Not to mention you'd apparently prefer I had no clothes on. Forgive me if I am a little shocked."

I smile again. "Get used to it, Marine. From now on, I plan to tell you things like that every day – many times, if I can. In fact …" I stand and walk over to the stereo. "You said you liked traditional, right?"

She smiles and nods.

"Well, then you're going to love this. It's a classic." I push a few buttons on the machine, switching to a different CD, and then, when the song I've selected begins to play, I turn and walk back towards her.

"This has been a favorite song of mine for a long time. Some day soon, you'll get to hear the 'Harmon Rabb unplugged' version of it. But for now, …" I stop beside her and hold out my hand. "May I have this dance?"

Her smile grows wider as recognition dawns, and Rod Stewart begins to sing.

- Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there's no one else above you? –

"It's not the original version, but I like this one best," I tell her quietly. She just nods and nestles into my arms.

For a while then, we simply let ourselves melt into each other gradually, swaying gently to the music. There's nothing urgent, nothing earth shattering about it. It just fills me with fuzzy warmth from tip to toe as our breathing becomes synced.

"This is nice, Harm," she says. 'Nice' is the understatement of the century.

"Yes, it is," I whisper, and I can't help nuzzling the top of her head, taking in the smell of her hair – it's partly the lavender used in more shampoos than not, but it's somehow also uniquely her. I pull her closer. She hums against my chest, and an answering groan rises up from deep within me. She giggles, and then she looks up at me.

"Enjoying yourself, Flyboy?"

I want to tell her yes, but for the second time tonight, the ability to form words escapes me as our gazes lock – her eyes have always had amazing power over me. I can feel my pulse quicken as she tiptoes, bringing her face to within an inch of mine. And then our lips meet.

The world around me dissolves as the kiss moves from gentle nibbling to tentative exploration, to heated dueling. There's only room in my awareness for the woman in my arms – this beautiful, strong-willed, intelligent, passionate and caring woman who has agreed to be my wife. My breathing quickens when her hands start wandering across my back, and I know that this time, nothing is going to stop us.

Except maybe Sarah.

"Harm …" she pants, and my body all but curls up around her, in a vain attempt to compensate for the loss of contact. "You realize this technically qualifies as our first date?"

I can't help myself then. I burst out laughing, and before too long, she joins me. It's true – technically. That doesn't make it any less absurd.

"Who cares?"

With that, I sweep her up into my arms, take her into my bedroom, and proceed to make love to her.

It's hot and ravenous and all consuming, and then it's languid, sweet and tender. It's everything I've ever dreamed of.

And then some.


End file.
